Did You Miss Me?
by Queerasil
Summary: John comes home one morning to find a large pentagram drawn in blood in the middle of his living room. Naturally, he's a bit upset. (In which Sherlock summons a very familiar ghost. Ouija boards, pentagrams and magic abound!)


...

John comes home one morning to find a large pentagram drawn in blood in the middle of his living room. Naturally, he's a bit upset.

"Sherlock," he calls, because who else could be responsible for something so strange.

Sherlock pops out from the bathroom and smiles. "John, I didn't except you home so –"

"Is that human blood?" John points at the pentagram and hopes for the best.

"No!" Sherlock doesn't meet John's eyes. "Only a little. It had to be, otherwise it wouldn't work."

John has so many questions. Mostly, he just wants the blood cleaned up off the floor. "Why?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I was curious."

John doesn't even know. "What… were you trying to do?"

Sherlock says nothing. His silence is full of meaning.

"Were you trying to summon a demon?"

"Not a demon," Sherlock says defensively.

"Then what?"

Sherlock frowns. "Doesn't matter. Didn't work."

"Sherlock." John takes a step closer to his friend, resisting the urge to punch him. "What were you trying to summon?"

When Sherlock speaks, he doesn't meet John's eyes. He mumbles, "A ghost."

"Ah." John nods. _Yes, a ghost, of course. Why didn't you say so. Yes, that's perfectly alright. Carry on. _"Well, that's perfectly reasonable." The sarcasm is heavy in his voice, but Sherlock still doesn't pick up on it.

"I'm glad you think so."

John is nearly brimming over with fury. Calmly, he says, "But you didn't _actually_ summon anything, right?"

"…No…" Sherlock doesn't look very confident in his answer.

"If I get possessed, I'm blaming you."

"Don't be silly, John. I did my research. Ghosts don't possess people," Sherlock laughs, then suddenly gets very serious. "They haunt people."

John grumbles something that sounds vaguely like, "Great! Because we really needed more dead people!"

…

Weird things start happening around 221B.

It starts with the milk. John gets the milk from Tesco, sets it down on the counter, turns around to put some beer in the fridge, turns back and – lo and behold – the milk is gone. Just gone. Completely disappeared. Sherlock isn't even home.

The milk has always run out quickly, but it's never _downright_ disappeared.

But, oh no, it doesn't end there. It seems like no matter how long John tries boils the tea water, it still ends up frigid cold. The stairs don't creak anymore when you step on them. Curtains move and random gusts of wind blow papers around. John wakes up in the middle of the night for no reason, only to find out _he can't move_.

The worst thing is the constant pair of eyes John feels on the back of his neck.

There's not an inch of doubt in John's mind. There's something in 221B. Something bad, something menacing, something haunting them. And it's all Sherlock's bloody fault.

…

Sherlock buys a Ouija board.

John just groans. He doesn't even ask why. "This is dangerous," he says to Sherlock as they sit on the floor on opposite sides of the board, surrounded by a circle of salt.

"Probably." Sherlock lights a candle and places a piece of silver on the board. "Have you ever done this before?"

John gives a stare that says, _Do I look like I regularly contact the spirit world? _

Sherlock gives a distinct glare that says, _Well, I don't know what you do in your spare time._

John sighs and they proceed. Sherlock places his hands on the planchette and begins. "Hello, thing that's haunting our flat. Please, reveal yourself to us."

_He really shouldn't be so flippant with a dangerous ghost, _John thinks, just as the planchette starts to move. "Wow."

Sherlock looks only mildly impressed. The planchette moves to _H-E-L-L- (_John gets incredibly nervous before it finally moves to)_O. _"Did I summon you?"

_Y-E-S._

Sherlock looks proud of himself. "How did you die?"

_G-U-N-S-H-O-T_

John thinks they should end the session right now, or order whatever this thing is to get out of their house, but now his curiosity's peaked. "What's your name?"

_J-I-M_

_F-R-O-M_

_I-T_

Sherlock goes white. John's heart takes off like a rocket in his chest. "This isn't funny, Sherlock."

Sherlock's voice is slightly panicked too. "I'm not doing anything. I'm not even moving it." Sherlock takes his hands off the planchette, and it continues to move on its own.

_D-I-D Y-O-U M-I-S-S M-E_

_D-I-D Y-O-U M-I-S-S M-E_

_D-I-D Y-O-U M-I-S-S M-E_

_D-I-D Y-O-U M-I-S-S M-E_

"End it! End it," John screams. The planchette moves faster and faster, darting back and forth between the letters in a sickening pattern.

Sherlock looks more alarmed than John is. "I don't know how… I don't know how, John." Sherlock looks up at John, his eyes wide with panic and alarm.

Without thinking, John grabs the planchette and stops it from moving. Touching it burns, it feels red hot in his hands. _This is a trick. This is all a trick. I've got to be imagining –_

John screams. His hands are still locked on the planchette, unable to move. Sherlock looks horrified, but he acts quickly to help his friend, placing his hands on top of John's and moving the planchette to _END._

Jim is gone without another word.

…

The burns on John's hands aren't bad enough to scar, but they do leave his palms raw and ripe and red. It's unarguable that whatever happen was real, but John can't quite believe it. Sherlock is… unnerved by the whole ordeal. Clearly, facing his old enemy was difficult for him.

A few weeks later, Sherlock and John go out to dinner at Angelo's. Sherlock doesn't eat, but John does.

Sherlock is oddly silent until he says the most unlikely thing. "I'm sorry."

John stops halfway through a bite of pasta. He wasn't expecting that. He finishes his bite and looks at his friend, unsure of what he can say. John has thousands of questions, but only one that matters. "Why did you do it? Summon Moriarty, I mean."

Sherlock shrugs. He obviously knows why, but he'll probably never tell John.

"You don't have to tell me, I mean. I was just curious."

"Naturally." Sherlock takes a sip of his wine, not meeting John's eyes. "Do you want to know?"

"No." _Yes._

"Alright then."

They don't talk about it.

...

**I TOOK THAT PRACTICAL DEMON SUMMONING COURSE. OTHERWISE I WOULD HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE THIS. **

**Fulfilled the LWS Trope Card 3 prompt "Magic AU". BINGO!**

**Thanks.**

**Hope you enjoyed.**


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